


in every universe, in every life

by apollothyme



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Drabble Collection, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:10:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12628707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollothyme/pseuds/apollothyme
Summary: A collection of smaller ficlets that aren't big enough to get their own post.1 ▸ Michael/Tilly- Pacific Rim AU2 ▸ Paul/Hugh- "You're a famous musician but I'm a dickhead who only listens to music from the last century so I have no clue who you are. Oops?"3 ▸ Paul/Hugh- Fantasy AU where Paul is an alchemist and Hugh is the healer who saves his ass from getting killed by poisonous mushrooms.4 ▸ Paul/Hugh- Paul is addicted to coffee and Hugh thinks he's adorable.





	1. michael/tilly - pacific rim au

When Admiral Cornwell told Michael she would have a new Jaeger partner, Michael’s reaction was exactly what was expected of her: she stood so still not an inch of her wavered, chin held high, a distant look in her eye as if the conversation couldn’t interest her less. Admiral Cornwell observed her, aware that behind the cold facade Michael was probably cursing her to hell and back, as well as writing a comprehensive letter on why Cornwell and everyone involved in this decision should be fired, shunned and thrown into a Kaiju’s mouth. 

"Admiral,” Michael began to say, the corners of her mouth strung so tight the words barely filtered out. “I do not think this is a smart idea. Respectfully, I don’t feel ready to go back into combat yet.”  


“I know you don’t feel ready, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t. It’s time you face the music, Michael. There is a war outside our walls and we need you in the field if we want to stand a single chance of winning this.”  


Michael lowered her head and, as always, Cornwell struggled to read her emotions. “After Philippa—” she started to say, her words cut off by her superior officer, who refused to dwell on the dead once more. 

“Philippa was a brilliant pilot and an even better woman, but she’s dead and you can’t bring her back. None of us can. Please, just try to work with the new pilot. Her name is Sylvia Tilly and she’s excelled in every mental test we threw at her.”  


“We might not be match compatible,” Michael said, throwing the words out like a desperate lifeboat.  


“Just  _try_ ,” Cornwell insisted.  


Michael bit her bottom lip as she thought about the situation, Cornwell watching her every move. “Fine,” she said in the end. “I’ll try.” 


	2. paul stamets/hugh culber - band au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're a famous musician but I'm a dickhead who only listens to music from the last century so I have no clue who you are. Oops?"

Paul didn’t have a single damn clue who Hugh was when they first met.

All he knew was that it was four in the morning, he had to hand in a paper at eight and if he didn’t get any caffeine in his body soon he was either going to die and enter a new form of existence that transcended physical limitations.

All things considered, this was a fairly common occurrence for him.

He dreamt about the chemically induced energy boost he was about to receive while he walked to his favorite coffee shop near campus, the ALL NIGHT, ALL DAY, FRY YOUR BRAIN SPOT. A rather catchy name, only enhanced by the various neon signs near the front door.

While he debated on whether or not he should get some food while he was out, Paul’s brain got a small respite from worrying about the paper he had to hand in soon. 

He had already asked for two deadline extensions on it and he was dreading the idea of asking for a third. His research on Pilium spores had turned out to be more complex than anticipated and Paul longed for the chance to explore it in full. After all, why would someone hand in five pages worth of material when they could instead deliver forty (plus another hundred or so with graphs and tables)?

His professor agreed that Paul’s dedication to his project was admirable, but he was also pretty strict on the idea that Paul wasn’t a “special case” and that he needed to hand in his work at some point instead of trying to “write the next mushroom bible”.

Some people just didn’t get scientific precision like Paul Stamets did.

None of that mattered, however, if Paul didn’t manage to buy some coffee, which he was struggling to do because of the man in front of him holding up the line while humming some unnatural, terrible song that was making Paul’s ears bleed internally.

“Excuse me,” Paul said, tapping the man on the shoulder. “Are you going to order or just stand there all night while attempting to murder my ears?”

“I’m sorry?” The man said, his eyebrows climbing towards his eyebrows.

Paul rolled his eyes. “I said, are you going to stand there all night or—“

“Oh, I heard what you said, I was just wondering if you were brave enough to say it again,” the man said. He spoke slowly, as if he was tasting the words one by one, and he used the opportunity to give Paul a thorough once-over.

Paul cursed himself and his dumb physiology for the blush he _knew was_ spreading across his cheeks at that very moment.

“I’m Hugh, by the way,” the man added, giving Paul his hand to shake.

Paul stared at the hand, then looked up at Hugh’s face, then looked down again.

_What the fuck was happening?_

Hugh looked at Paul with expectancy, like he thought the both of them were on the same page and Paul wasn’t currently questioning how the hell had yelling at someone at four in the morning turned to an attractive man giving him once-overs.

It was either too late or too early for this. Paul had no clue which.

“I’m Paul,” he said after a few seconds, years of his mother telling him to be polite to people overriding his usual ‘curse and kick’ response.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Hugh. asked.

Paul frowned. “I don’t need you to buy me anything,” he said.

The man snorted, shaking his head. “I know you don’t need me to, I’m asking if I can. Like on a date.”

Paul frowned even harder, an easy feat for him, a man who had mastered a different type of frown for every situation. “It’s four in the morning.”

“So? We’re both up and you look like you need a break.”

Paul probably looked like he needed a ten-day vacation, but that was besides the point. 

The point being that he was being asked on a date by a rather disgustingly attractive man at four in the morning, while Paul looked like ass, and could certainly do with sitting down for a minute or two or maybe a hundred.

His mouth was opening to say, “Sure,” before his brain even knew what was happening.

Mystery man flashed him a grin that was so genuine it was almost blinding. 

“And why are you up at this hour?” Paul found himself asking as they sat down.

“I’m in a band. We finished a concert just a while ago.”

Hugh gave Paul another expectant look, like he thought this sentence would spark anything but further confusion inside Paul’s head.

He was out of luck.

“Huh,” was Paul’s brilliant reply.

He stared at Hugh with more attention now. He had never been on a date with a musician before. Actually, he was pretty sure he had never even met a musician before, the scientific and cultural circles not crossing often. Hugh didn’t strike him as the type to play in late night concerts, unless musicians were big on soft grey polos and dark jeans, which, then again, maybe they were. If there was one person in the universe unqualified to discuss fashion, it was him. 

“What kind of music do you play?”

Hugh shrugged. “A bit of rock, a bit of pop. We try not to stick to any genre, preferring to go more with the flow, so to speak.”

Paul nodded. The only music he listened to were soundtracks from his favorite sci-fi movies from the twenty-second century, so he had no useful commentary to add. Luckily, the conversation was saved from entering the awkward ‘oops we’re on a date but both of us have nothing to say’ realm by Hugh, who started asking questions about Paul and his work.

From then on the night seemed to flow past them in a blur. At some point, they left the coffee shop and went for a walk by the ocean, in which they held hands and discussed the merits of vacationing on Hilium 5, a new colony with zero gravity where everything floated.

Paul lost track of time and ended up having to call his professor at eight to beg for a third extension while Hugh sat across from him on a bench and tried not to laugh.

This would have all bothered Paul a lot more if Hugh hadn’t kissed him afterwards, telling him they should meet again soon after they’ve had more than six hours of rest. His voice was soft and raspy and Paul wondered if Hugh was the lead singer in his band.

Paul informed him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept for more than five hours, much less six. Hugh kissed him againa and told him to try, for him.

“Alright,” Paul replied.

It wasn’t until two weeks and five more dates later (a record for Paul, who didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that he was falling in love so fast he could barely keep up) that Straal thought of looking up Hugh’s name and they both discovered Hugh was, indeed, the lead singer in what turned out to be one of the most popular bands in the federation.

“How did you not know this?” Straal asked. “They filled out the Main Arena for three nights in a row. His face is on billboards all across the city. Oh my god, I can’t believe you’re dating The Hugh Culber and you didn’t _know_.”

“Huh,” was Paul’s ingenios reply.


	3. paul stamets/hugh culber - fantasy au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul is an alchemist and Hugh is the healer who saves his ass from getting killed by poisonous mushrooms.

Paul woke on beneath a scratchy blanket that was probably handmade by someone’s deceased grandma.

This would not have been weird had Paul ever met any of his grandmas, received any blankets from their wills or, at the very least, remember when he’d gone to sleep.

Alas, none of this was true, and thus Paul was confused, something that didn’t happen to him often.

Also, after a few seconds of blinking in the hopes of clearing his vision from whatever dry spell it was under, Paul realized the ceiling he was staring at was made of wood, not stone, like his own.

A highly confusing situation all around.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” someone said. Paul tried to stare at where the voice came from, but found the motion of moving his head created a wave of nausea that left him physically reeling.

Fucking hell, if Paul wasn’t already laying down he’d say he definitely needed to sit down.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“In my living room,” the same person from before said. He took the decency of walking closer to Paul’s prostrate form so that Paul could see him.

He was a tall man, dark-skinned, big eyes and furrowed brows. He seemed… troubled, Paul thought, but then again he had never been the best at guessing other people’s emotions.

He was also wearing a white hat. Paul felt rather guilty that his brain had latched onto the man’s dark eyes before it noticed the big white hat on his head, but he discarded the thought as soon as it hit him.

He tried to sit up once again despite the nausea created by the motion, but found he was held back in place but a solid hand on his chest. “Don’t try to move around,” the man said. “You need to rest.”

“Who are you?” 

“My name is Hugh Culber. I found you lying in the woods next to a pile of poisonous mushrooms, so I brought you back to my place to help you.”

Paul frowned. “Why?” 

Hugh frowned back. “Because you were passed out. By a pile of poisonous mushrooms. What was I supposed to do, leave you there to die of intoxication?”

Paul rolled his eyes and tried to sit up again. He had to get back to the forest as soon as possible or all the work he had done in the past two months would be going to waste. He was working on a new form of energy, something that could revolutionize the way their whole kingdom — possibly the whole world — functioned, but for that he needed the Licantie mushrooms he had been collecting before he somehow passed out, the explanation to which was still not clear.

“I didn’t eat any mushrooms. I need them for my work, not substance.”

“The Licantie mushrooms are poisonous to the touch,” Hugh explained. “I take it you didn’t know that?”

Paul had the decency to look ashamed as a faint blush spread across his cheeks.

Now that Hugh mentioned it, he did vaguely recall reading something about the Licantie being one of the most dangerous mushrooms in the kingdom.

“I admit I may have forgotten that fact, yes.”

That piece information must have been right next to the one that said Licantie mushrooms were extremely rare due to their sporadic nature. The mushrooms’ lifespan lasted a little over a day and they only grew the day after solar flares showed above the Earth’s skies, wilting in the morning if they weren’t picked. Tricky little buggers, they were, but their connection to the sun was the reason why Paul needed them in the first place.

All of his alchemy studies had led them in the direction of the sun and its powers. He knew he was on the verge of something big, something important, and he wasn’t going to let anyone stop him, not even mysterious men with white hats and what looked like a greenhouse growing in their living room.

“Well, your little lapse of memory nearly led to your death, so sit tight and stop squirming. You’re not fit to leave this house,” Hugh said.

“I have work to do,” Paul insisted, trying to get up again even though he knew the effort was pointless. He was in a rather weak state and Hugh seemed to hold him back as easily as he would a kitten. Dammit.

Hugh rolled his eyes at him. “Your work can wait,” Hugh said.

“No, actually, it can’t. For your information, Licantie mushrooms are incredibly difficult to find and they live—“

“For only one day. I know that, which is why, when I saw you lying in the woods with an empty bag by your side, I took the time to pick them for you. While I wore gloves, might I add. They’re over there in the corner.”

“You did that? For me?”

Hugh took his hand off Paul’s chest, seeming to relax now that Paul no longer looked like he was two seconds away jumping out the window. He left Paul’s side, entering a room that was just off the side where Paul could see teal tiles covering the walls. The kitchen, he presumed.

“Yes, I did,” Hugh said.

“But  _ why _ ?”

Paul was more confused now than he had been when he’d first woken up in this strange living room, which he now took the time to inspect. Besides the ridiculous amounts of plants, there were also bookshelves covering every wall, alongside strewn blankets, clothes and other miscellaneous objects that somehow seemed to just fit the room.

There was also a cat. A black cat, Paul felt like adding. It was sitting across the room and staring at Paul rather intently, like it was debating whether or not Paul was some type of food.

Paul scooted up the couch so as to put a few more inches of space between him and what could very well be Satan’s spawn.

Weirdly, against what was surely the majority of people’s assumption, Paul was not a cat person. He wasn’t an animal person, period. Some might even go as far as say he wasn’t a sentient being person.

While Paul disagreed with that last statement, he could understand where it came from what with him being a ‘mad scientist with baby blue eyes that do nothing to soften your surly nature’, as his work partner once put it.

Just as Paul put the option of jumping out the window back on the table—that cat was staring too hard—Hugh came back into the room with carrying a tray with a steaming teapot and a cup.

“What’s that?” Paul asked, his curiosity getting the best of him in the blink of an eye.

“This is Mandrake’s juice mixed with some beetroot, fig and polimag powder. I’ve already cleaned your stomach, but this will help you get your strength back.”

Paul recognized all the ingredient in Hugh’s drink, but he’d never seen them put together before. He looked from the drink to Hugh, to the room they were in. After what felt like an eternity, the pieces all clicked together.

“Oh. You’re a mage, aren’t you? I didn’t know there were any living in the city anymore.”

Hugh put the tray down on a table near the couch, sitting himself down on the floor next to Paul. There didn’t seem to be any other empty seats in the room.

“That’s because I don’t live in the city, I live here.”

“In the middle of the woods?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

Hugh stared at Paul, seeming discomforted by the interrogatory. “Not everyone in the city takes kindly to magic,” he said after a few seconds. His eyes didn’t meet Paul’s, focused somewhere behind his back instead.

“I’m sorry,” Paul said, the words tumbling out of his mouth on instinct.

Hugh waved him off, pouring some of the tea into the empty cup. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m an alchemist,” Paul explained. Alchemists and mages… They didn’t have a good relationship, to put it mildly. Their areas of work had cohabited for many centuries, but in recent years alchemy had a surge in popularity, its scientific nature seeming to reassure the general population more than magic’s mysterious character.

“Still not your fault, so please quit it with the puppy eyes. You don’t have to feel all guilty about something you had no role in.”

“I’m not doing puppy eyes,” Paul argued, looking away from Hugh to the cup he was being handed. He grimaced at the very first sip. “This tastes horrid.”

“It’s meant to make you feel better, not taste well.”

Paul grimaced even harder at the second tip. “You could at least have added some sugar.”

Hugh rolled his eyes. “Fine, give me a second,” he said, getting up from the floor.

He came back with a small ceramic pot full of brown sugar. Paul did not miss the look of disgust Hugh gave him after he added five spoonfuls to his drunk.

“You know that much sugar is terrible for your health, right?”

This time it was Paul’s turn to roll his eyes. “Are you a doctor as well as mage?” he asked.

“I’m a healer actually,” Hugh said, taking the pot away from Paul and putting it on the table before he sat on the floor again.

“So does that mean I can definitely trust this awful tasting brew?”

Hugh leaned back so that his back rest against the coffee table. “You know, you sure complain a lot for someone who just had a near-death experience and was saved by a random passerby, who happened to stumble on you at the right moment and have the necessary knowledge to save you.”

Paul tightened his grip on the cup in his hands, taking another sip. This time he didn’t grimace.

He had always been rather callous, he knew. When he was a child, his mother used to say his careless would one day kill him. Paul was beginning to think maybe she was right.

“Thank you for saving me. And my research. I know I was dumb and extremely lucky that you found me.”

Hugh flashed him a smile that was both soft and genuine. “Yes, you were. And you’re welcome, mushroom collector man.”

The nickname made Paul realize he had yet to introduce himself. Damn, his manners truly left a lot to be desired. “My name is Paul Stamets.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Paul Stamets. And now that we’ve ascertained I’m a trained medical professional and you need to stay on that couch and rest for the rest of the day—no arguing—why don’t you tell me about your research and why the bag of poisonous mushrooms I collected for you is so important?”

Paul felt a smile stretch across his lips before he even realized what he was doing.

This, at least, he could do.

And if Hugh continuing to smile at him as he rambled about his experiments made Paul feel almost good about getting poisoned, well, that wasn’t for anyone to know but him.


	4. paul/hugh - a cup of coffee

One of the many fun things about Paul Stamets, in Hugh’s opinion, is that he’s addicted to coffee.

Granted, this doesn’t sound funny at first, but once you start spending your days with him, sleeping with him, cooking for him and watching lame sci-fi movies from the twenty-first century with him, you begin to see the hilarity.

For starters, Paul can’t go a single day — hell, he can’t even go five hours — without a cup of coffee, two spoonfuls of sugars and the tiniest hint of almond milk, before he starts drudging up an insult storm against the universe itself for “depriving” him of his life.

It is as adorable as it is ridiculous. His eyes will start to droop no matter how hard he fights to keep them open and he’ll start making little complaint noises without even noticing, making him sound like a cat who just ate a fur ball by mistake. It’s cute, Hugh often thinks, although occasionally he does start worrying for his safety, mainly when Paul starts picking up random kitchen appliances — knifes included — in the search for his “nectar of life”.

For a scientist dedicated to the wonders of the universe, his boyfriend sure has a flair for the dramatics when he wants to.

So yeah, Paul’s coffee addiction is funny, as well as a bit scary at desperate times. Of course, Paul doesn’t see it that way.

“Hugh, for the last time, where are the coffee beans?” Paul bellows all the way from the kitchen as he peruses every single cabinet for the second time.

He’s already gone through the living room and the bathroom, scattering pillows across the floor and dumping shampoos bottles on the bathtub for no logical reason.

From the bedroom, Hugh lets out a low bubbling laugh, unable to stop himself despite knowing Paul will be able to hear him. Paul’s senses always heighten Wolverine style when his body is craving caffeine. Or maybe that’s just Hugh’s imagination playing with him.

Obviously, Hugh isn’t actually afraid of Paul hearing him laugh. He’s just afraid of whatever form of revenge Paul throws at his face with the force of a sledgehammer.

“Just come back to bed, babe. It’s Sunday morning. You don’t need coffee.” Hugh hears Paul let out a defeated sigh before the sound of two cabinets closing and feet shuffling on the floor fills the air. Hugh has won the battle, but not yet the war.

Once he reaches the doorway of their bedroom, Paul leans against it and tries his best to stick his head out for the extra sad puppy effect. “Won't you please just tell me where the coffee is?”

It almost works,  _ almost _ , but Hugh Culber has worked as a pediatrician before, and no puppy eyes, no matter how well rehearsed and strongly meant, will ever beat the look five-year-olds give him when they want to eat something outside their programmed diet. As such, Hugh has gained a decent amount of immunity against the sad puppy look.

Not much, but definitely enough to tell his thirty-year-old boyfriend to get his ass back in bed.

“Come back here already, I’m cold. You can have your coffee later.”

Paul looks like he’s about to fight Hugh, or at least put on some clothes and go out to the nearest café, but he gives up when Hugh starts scratching his chest and pushing down the bed sheets to reveal what’s underneath.

Hint: it’s a naked Hugh.

You would think that after being together for a year, Paul would be used to seeing Hugh naked, and that the power of said nakedness would no longer make his knees weak and his blood take a trip downstairs.

Alas, he is but a man with a gorgeous boyfriend and so, coffee can wait.


End file.
